


Absolution

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-01
Updated: 2011-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:39:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How much death can anyone see before they break?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolution

I hate war.

More than I hate the Decepticons.

More than I hate Megatron.

I hate the war.

Why do I bother?

I ask myself that so often.

Repair my comrades, my friends, just for them to be brought back again.

And how many have not passed beneath me?

Grey before they even reached my realm.

How many have I scanned and had to leave, the knowledge that I cannot help them the last thing in their processors as they return to Primus.

“Ratchet? Come on, let me in.”

Wheeljack. Who else would come looking for me?

Sending my code to the door I don’t look up as steps approach me.

“Oh, Ratch.” His voice is quiet; all sympathy and understanding. He’s not a medical model but he understands, has been forced to make the same choices when he’s been pressed into service in the chronically understaffed medical ward.

“Come on.” I don’t protest as he heaves me to my feet, a steadying arm around my shoulder as he guides me to my washrack.

The dried energon on my hands is suddenly a reminder of all that’s passed. How much of it belongs to those I couldn’t save?

I shudder, scrubbing them under the cleanser; hard enough to scrape paint before Jack catches them.

And then I’m clinging to him. I need the warmth of his chassis. The life, the feel of his energy field as it reaches out and surrounds me, the faint whirr of his servos and the humming of his engine. I’ve seen too much death today. Too many grey. Too many silent.

“Shhhhhhh.” He lets me hold him till my trembling stops before pushing me back under the cleanser, gently removing the dirt and grime from my frame.

Turning the stream of cleanser off he guides me back to my berth.

“Jack?” I need. I don’t know. I turn my head away. Ashamed.

But he understands. He always does.

“You sure?” He always asks.

I nod, face still turned away, “please.”

The arms which have been supporting me push down, letting me drop down to me knees beside the berth as he sits down.

His fingers ghost over my chevron as I rest my helm on his lap.

Reaching down he gently takes one of my arms, the chill of cool metal around my wrist makes me shudder but I don’t protest as my other arm receives the same treatment, the cuffs pulled from his subspace. How well he knows me, to carry them with him.

The hands return to my helm before sweeping downwards, resting for a long moment over the seam in my armour that covers my main energon lines. Programming that flared to life telling me I was in danger, that I should defend myself, was ruthlessly suppressed, buried under layers of firewalls.

“Shhhhh.” His arms returned to surrounding me until I am calm again.

“Stand up.” I pushed myself to my peds with a creaking of gears and servos. I am slowly turned around as I am manoeuvred over to a wall. Letting my helm rest against the smooth metal I listen to ‘Jack moving about my room as he gathers items from a variety of places.

“Arms up.” The command was soft, barely a whisper in my audials and I almost jump in surprise, I’d lost track of him.

The rattle of a chain and the pull on my wrists is almost hypnotic as I lean back against ‘Jack as he snaps the lock into place and wraps his arms around me.

A silent question.

I push back against him, tugging at the restraints where the chain runs through a metal loop bolted to the wall of my quarters.

A silent response.

Continue.

He pulls away with a final caress across my helm, almost an apology.

Despite knowing what is coming I still flinch as the first strike across my upper back, not even hard enough to mar the paint finish, lands with a crackle of energy.

‘Jack didn’t give me a chance to move before the next blows land, never the same place or the same strength as he slowly turns up the energy setting.

Gritting my denta I wrap my hands around the chain, the sensors protesting as the metal loops dig into my palms. The sensors in my back are starting to scream at me, objecting against the pain even as my chassis still pushes back to meet each blow.

I can feel the paint being stripped away with each blow, the crackle of energy dancing across my plating and the flare of pain as shallow gouges are carved into my armour.

“Enough,” I shudder with each blow now, the wall holding more of my weight than my legs.

“You know how to stop it. ‘Jack replied softly. “Submit”

I shook my helm, harder said than done. All I needed was one word. I couldn’t say it. Couldn’t admit that I wasn’t in control.

When I wasn’t in control of myself, mechs died.

Floor muddy pink, smell of charcoal and soot and melted metal, screams of those who would never leave this place, chassis’ turning grey before we got to them, injuries too big for us to handle. Having to pass over mechs for those we could easily repair to send back out to fight.

“Let it go.”

I twist my helm, optics offline against the pain as I pull air into my overheated system.

“Surrender.” The voice was soft, hypnotic, promising peace and safety.

A sharp pain across my shoulder and the scent of energon hangs in the air, filling my olfactory sensors, cloying, sweet, sickly. The scent of death.

I can’t do it. How long must we go before we break? I’ve seen it before, one patient too many, a wild light in the optics, a keen of grief, crosses on the shoulder that don’t mean a thing when all you can see before you is broken.

How many patients, how many friends, must we lose before we snap?

If I break, who will hold me? Or will I just be another victim of war?

“Submit.”

“Master.” Barely a whisper from my vocaliser. “Make it stop.” I can’t take it anymore. I want it over. No more pain and death. No more responsibilities. I don’t want to hold the power I do.

Executioner.

Murderer.

What right do I have to choose who lives and who dies.

That is Primus’ right.

Not mine.

“Shhhh.” Warm metal against my back, energy field surrounding, comforting, enclosing me.

“Not alone, Ratch, you’re never alone. I’ll never leave you.” I twist around; back protesting as my arms are released. I am caught before my legs give way and I clutch onto his chassis as he moves us over to the berth, settling me down with soft hands.

I can feel myself start to drift into recharge. Non-essential programs shutting down, cutting power to my chassis as ‘Jack finishes cleaning my back.

I vaguely feel him settling in beside me, arms wrapping round my chassis.

Warmth and life and safety.

“I’m sorry.”

Why? Better I break here.

Here I lose nothing but myself.


End file.
